


Stormcloud Blue

by SonyB89



Series: Alexandria [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonyB89/pseuds/SonyB89
Summary: A few years after the "Apocalypse that didn't happen", Heaven takes revenge on the wayward Angel Aziraphale by taking away his ability to see. Frightened, disoriented and hurt, Aziraphale turns to the only creature on earth who can help him - Crowley.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In one of my other GO Fanfictions, I use the same method of Emergency Contact.  
> Crowley and Aziraphale use the Codeword "ALEXANDRIA" to call for help in potential life and death situations.

* * *

The pigeon outside Crowleys window had a death wish. The demon was certain of it.

For the last ten minutes (from 3:14 to 3:24 A.M), the bird had rammed it's beak against Crowleys bedroom window, refusing to leave or be threatened.

Honestly, the _nerve_ of that animal!

Groaning and more than a little annoyed, Crowley rolled out of his bed and untangled himself from his black silk sheets.

“Okay, bird. You're about to die a horrible and very, _very_ slow death. If I had any carnivorous plants I'd feed you to them...”  
The sentence was left unfinished when the demon suddenly recognised the annoying bird.  
It was the white pigeon that Aziraphale always used for his human magic tricks – the bird he had used in fact for more than a few centuries, first as a carrier pigeon for messages and then as kind of a pet.

The bird was happy that Crowley finally paid it some attention. It jumped up and down, ecstatic.  
Crowley was about to make a sarcastic remark at it, when suddenly he saw something that had no place on pearly white feathers – blood.  
The bird was not only ecstatic – it was afraid, nervous and in a hurry to deliver it's message.

“What the heaven...”  
He finally opened the window and grabbed for the bird that obediently held it's little leg out to him.  
A small piece of parchment was bound to it. Seconds later, Crowley had miracled some clothes onto his body and ran as fast as he could to his Bentley.  
The piece of paper glided to the floor forgotten, only one word written upon it:

  
_**“Alexandria”** _

* * *

“Aziraphale? _Aziraphale_?! _I'm here!”_

The bookshop wasn't on fire.  
There were no signs of a fight or danger anywhere near the Angels dwelling.  
Crowley could count the instances that the two of them had used their emergency codeword in the last sixthousand years on one hand.  
He had used it once before during the 14th century, Aziraphale had already used it two times. And during every one of these situations both of them had only narrowly escaped violent discorporation.

He had parked the Bentley on the curve in front of the bookshop after breaking his personal record of speeding through London.  
He couldn't find the angel anywhere in his bookshop and decided to climb the steps to the angels small one-room apartment on the first floor.  
“Aziraphale, where the heaven are y-...”

The small bedroom was a mess of blood and feathers.  
As if a bird had flapped it's wings in panic upon realising it was trapped, huge white, pearly feathers had been thrown about.  
Specks of blood decorated the cream coloured sheets of the bed.  
Books, a teacup, a chair, the table, an old fashioned wash basin – everything was astray, nothing was where it should have been.

And in the farthest and darkest corner of the room sat Aziraphale, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms hugging them.  
He was wearing tartan cloth pyjama shorts, but his wings had ripped his powder blue shirt apart.  
The angels was trying to cocoon himself, shielding himself behind his shivering wings. He was trembling and rocking back and forth, sobbing.  
The room looked like a battlefield, the angel the only survivor of a violent battle.  
And the sight of him almost broke the demons heart.

“Aziraphale?”  
Finally the angel seemed to hear him.  
Slowly, oh so very slowly, the wings parted and then disappeared, leaving the human body behind, shivering and vulnerable.

“C-Crowley...”

Crowley was there in a second, sinking to his knees in front of the angel, ignoring the pain he felt as he landed on the crashed teacup.

Aziraphale latched onto him, buried his hands into the flesh of his shoulders as if the demon was the only anchor that would keep him from being swept away.

“I'm here. I'm here, what happened?”  
Only a second later it was obvious.  
Crowley started trembling as well, not with fear but with uncontrollable rage.

  
He saw the streaks of blood that ran down his angles cheeks. Aziraphale tried to look at him, tried to _look_ \- but he couldn't.

Someone had ripped his eyes out of their sockets.

“I... I can't see, Crowley. I can't see.” Aziraphale buried his face into the demons chest, sobbing.  
But no tears came forth.  
He had lost the ability to cry.

“G-Gabriel... Gabriel took my eyes away.”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Stormcloud Blue Chapter 2**

Sleeping with Aziraphale was very different from what Crowley had anticipated it would be.

He had imagined a lot less clothing, for one – in fact he had imagined no clothes involved at all.

But for the last two weeks, ever since _“the incident”_ , Crowley had shared his bed with his Angel, watching over him.

Just thinking about that night made the rage and hate bubble up again, deep inside the demons chest.

The memory was vivid and he was sure he would never, ever forget it.

* * *

“ _I'm going to kill him.”_

_Gabriel the Archangel had just been awarded first place on top of Crowleys list of enemies. He would not stay on top very long, for he was soon to die a horrible and slow death._

“ _Aziraphale.”, Crowley hissed, his voice barely audible. “Is that_ **all** _he did?”_

“ _I-I...”_

“ _Aziraphale... What else did he do?”_

“ _I- I don't remember...”_

_The angel shook his head, clinging to the demon like a climbing plant._

“ _It hurts...”_

_Crowley blessed. Of course, how could he have forgotten?_

_Aziraphale just had his eyes ripped out of their sockets – while incorporating a human body. He was in pain._

“ _Let me have a look. I'll fix you...”_

_Crowley carefully placed his hands on the angles bloodied cheeks and concentrated._

_He could see Aziraphale's eyes materialising, the miracle working._

_Every cell, every atom was coming back to form two beautiful, functioning eyeballs. Nerves were reattaching themselves, connections were made to the rest of the angels head._

_But something was wrong._

_Aziraphale sighed, relieved. The pain was subsiding and he was able to move the miracled eyeballs._

_He smiled, but the smile was a sad one._

“ _Black as night...”, he said._

_And it was true._

_Where there once had been two eyes the colour of the brightest blue sky, there was now the milky shadow of stormclouds blocking the angels vision._

_His eyes were back – but he was still blind._

* * *

Although Crowley had wanted nothing else but to storm into heaven and relieve Gabriels head from his shoulders, Aziraphales welfare came first.

He had packed a bag in a hurry, later realising that he could have just miracled anything he'd need into being.

The demon had ushered the frightened and exhausted angel down the stairs, had bolted the bookshop shut and impregnable and had driven them to the safety of his flat in Mayfair.

As soon as they had entered the flat, Crowley had gotten rid of the black silk sheets, replacing them with the softest and most comfortable Egyptian cotton he could miracle into existence.

* * *

“ _Stay with me?”, Aziraphale begged, already half unconscious._

_He was exhausted, his human corporation desperate for sleep and rest._

_But underneath, between the lines, Crowley knew that all he wanted to say was: Please don't go and fight him. Please don't leave me alone._

_So he stayed._

_Aziraphale fell asleep as soon as his body hit the bed, hopefully into a dreamless state._

_Crowley cleaned up the angel, wiping away the still bloodied cheeks, changing him into comfortable pyjamas._

_He spent hours updating the wards on his flat. It had always been protected against angelic intervention – and after the Apocalypse they had stopped, he had added wards against demons as well._

_It was exhausting and complicated work, but he was not keen on fighting off angels and demons while he was determined to nurse his angel back to health._

_At around midday, he fell into bed next to Aziraphale, hoping to wake up and realising it was just a bad dream._

* * *

They had spent the first week after Gabriel's attack in bed.

Aziraphale was too exhausted to get up. In his panic he had flapped his wings like a caged bird, accidentally breaking some of the delicate hollow bones.

His ability to see refused to come back, probably due to a curse cast by Gabriel to take his revenge.

Aziraphale barely spoke, but he had the constant need to be in contact with Crowley at all times.

A hand on his arm, his head on the demons shoulder. Whenever there was no touching, the angel seemed to be anxious, nervous, close to panic. 

Crowley never thought he'd have to coax Aziraphale into eating something, but the angel had refused to eat.

He had however asked for Crowleys help in having a bath.

“I feel filthy...”, he had said. “But I can't do it on my own.”

In the past, the possibility of seeing his angel naked, sharing a bath with him, would have been exhilarating for Crowley.

But that was then.

Helping Aziraphale into his own giant bathtub, rubbing him clean and letting him soak in the lavender scented water, just made him sad.

He still desired him, still felt the twitch of lust when Aziraphale had discarded his clothing – but desiring him when he was so vulnerable, when he was depending on him for help – that was just wrong.

* * *

“ _I need you to promise me something...”, Aziraphale muttered, leaning back against the cold porcelain._

_He seemed to enjoy the warm water. The scent of lavender calmed him._

_Crowley had turned around, sitting with his back to the angel, waiting for him to ask for a towel._

“ _I already told you I'm not going to be nicer to my plants, angel.”_

_Aziraphale sighed._

“ _This is not about your plants, Crowley.”_

_The angels hand settled on his shoulder and he hesitantly took it, assuring him that he was there._

“ _I want you to promise me not to go after Gabriel.”_

_That struck a nerve._

“ _Out of the question. I'm going to kill the bastard for what he did to you.”_

“ _No, you won't. Because I'm asking you not to.”_

_Crowley snarled and hissed, blessing Gabriel in every language he knew._

“ _He has to pay...”_

_Aziraphale turned in the bathtub, water spilling over the edge of the tub, soaking the tiles on the ground._

_Suddenly Crowley was hugged from behind, Aziraphales wet chest pressed against his shoulders, his arms encircling the demon._

_The angel was shaking again, despite the warm bath water._

“ _I'm asking this of you because I'm selfish, Crowley.”, he said, sobbing._

“ _I-I can't do this alone. I need you with me. If you go... If you go I'll have no one.”_

* * *

Two weeks after _the incident_ , after Crowley had promised not to go after Gabriel, they had settled into a comfortable routine.

They would go to bed together, so that Crowley would be there when Aziraphale woke up.

To reassure the angel that he was not alone when he opened his eyes that could no longer see.

The angel had lost weight and Crowley did not like it one bit. It did not suit him.

His broken wings were healing nicely.

But Crowley asked himself how long it would take to get the old Aziraphale back – and if it was possible at all.

“Good morning, my dear.”

Aziraphale stirred, his eyes still closed, but he was awake.

“Morning Angel.”

Aziraphale slowly sat up, cautiously putting his hands on his surroundings.

He leaned against the pillows, sighing.

“Honestly, I don't know how blind humans do it. This is frustrating.”

Crowley didn't answer. He didn't want to talk about this.

They were going to get Aziraphales sight back, one way or another.

He decided to change the subject.

“Can I tempt you to a spot of breakfast? How does blueberry pancakes and a nice cup of tea sound?”

Aziraphale smiled, his eyes staring into the black abyss of nothingness.

“That sounds lovely, my dear.”


End file.
